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Letter

From the Editor: 03.31.11

As an English major who has never taken a finance/marketing/management/advertising/Wharton–mumble–jumble class, I'm simply business–talk inept.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 03.24.2011

Nobody really watched Skins. You know, that MTV teen drama that was spawned from the brilliant British version.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 03.23.2011

I am no fashionista. My mom picked out my first birthday dress (white lace), my Bat Mitzvah dress (pink raw silk), my prom dress (white lace again) and even my first college formal dress (tight and black). Luckily, with seven female roommates, I have live–in style gurus.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 03.17.2011

Back in kindergarten we made refrigerator magnets. I decorated mine with rhinestones, purple swirls and sequins.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 02.24.11

In honor of Street’s second annual Fiction Issue, I’ll now take you on a journey back to my adolescence.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 02.17.11

There’s nothing better, homier or more comforting than coming home from a loooong day and curling up in front of my TV.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 02.16.2011

I’m in love. I’m hopelessly, maddeningly in love with a tin box on 38th Street. What holds grip of my heart, you ask?

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 2.10.2011

The stretch of Spruce from 40th to 41st Street is a black hole. I've walked down this block at least once a day over the past year and a half and I’ve learned a thing or two.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 02.03.11

Last Wednesday night, we all prayed for a snow day. Whenever shrieks were heard over intercoms and through hallways, someone would jump and dial 898–MELT.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 1.27.11

There’s that scene in (admittedly, my favorite movie) Can’t Hardly Wait when a few tech geeks surround a computer and wait desperately for Internet porn to load.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From the Editor: 1.20.11

I’m a sentimental, sappy, bear your soul in an '80s love song kind of girl. I hate to admit it and despite donning a coffee–drinking sarcastic shell, I’m really just made up of unicorns, hearts and bubble letters. That being said, one might easily anticipate my reaction to the abroaders’ epic homecoming.

by JESSICA GOODMAN

From The Editor: 12.02.10

Disclaimer: This letter, this one right here, has been particularly difficult to write. In fact, even amidst all the term papers and stupid class blog posts and application essays, I've never dreaded writing something more. I set out, at the beginning of Thanksgiving Break, determined to compose the best last "From The Editor" to ever grace the pages of any publication — bold and poignant and touching and smart.

by SARAH BETH MCKAY

From The Editor: 11.18.10

In a city where the cloud cover is often low and diffuse, yesterday’s sky of lofty, slow–moving and almost–purple clouds was a welcome change.

by SARAH BETH MCKAY

From The Editor: 11. 11.10

I feel drugged. Really, on a cloud, different–than–drunk, numb–to–the–world, drugged. And, as someone who (believe it or not) hasn't ever touched a drug beyond the Benadryl and Epinephrin required by a severe allergy to peanuts, I have to say — it's quite a fascinating state of being. This past week seems like a blur.

by SARAH BETH MCKAY

From The Editor: 11.04.2010

I was innocently sitting in my bed, procrastinating by reading an article on New York Magazine's Vulture about the female characters in Boardwalk Empire (I haven't managed to get through a single episode on On Demand yet). "…when women were more likely to be thought of as sex objects or mothers than equals…" Click.

by SARAH BETH MCKAY

From The Editor: 11.03.2010

Ohhh, Wawa Coke ICEE. It doesn't take a lot to make me happy. Really, all it usually takes is 22 ounces of you — or 32 ounces, if Wawa is out of the small bubble lids or it's icky and misty out.

by SARAH BETH MCKAY

From The Editor: 10.28.10

At around 5 a.m. on a particularly late night in architecture studio this past week, I deliriously announced to a room of several other archi–geeks, “I think it’s better in life to be silly and happy when on the brink of exhaustion than to be sad and cranky.” One responded, not so jokingly, “It’s only when you get silly and happy that we get cranky.” After nearly two and a half years of all–nighters together, the seniors in the architecture major are particularly close.

by SARAH BETH MCKAY

From The Editor: 10.21.10

Dear Penn: you are a bunch of very forward–happy people. If we over at Street wanted to really, truly print a life–wrecking, gossip–inducing, controversial article, all we'd have to do is copy and paste half of the emails I’m regularly forwarded directly into Highbrow's Gutter.

by SARAH BETH MCKAY

From The Editor: 10.14.10

Back in the days of AIM, my friend and I had a code. If I ever IMed him something sarcastic, I would alternate the case of the letters so as to make my tone absolutely clear; ‘I absolutely can’t wait for practice’ became ‘I aBSOlutELY cAN’t WAit fOR prACTicE.’ Maybe he was a tad behind in his ability to detect cynicism (he ended up at Princeton, after all), but the difference between how I write online or on my phone and how I write in Street or for papers has only grown since getting a BlackBerry and becoming obsessed with GChat. I’m not talking about abbreviations like ‘ur’ and ‘tho’ and ‘c u’ (So 2000!

by SARAH BETH MCKAY

From the Editor: 9.30.10

As a GRITS (that's Girl Raised In The South, obviously), sometimes it's hard living up here in cloudy, cold Philadelphia.

by 34TH STREET

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